


older

by kirkaut



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M, happy birthday dean winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28947486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkaut/pseuds/kirkaut
Summary: Dean wakes up on the morning of his 42nd birthday to the smell of something burning.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	older

Dean wakes up on the morning of his 42nd birthday to the smell of something burning.

The acrid smell of smoke is startling, so he starts to heave himself rapidly out of bed, but it only takes a few seconds to register that it smells like burnt bacon and pancakes.

“Jesus,” he groans, and flops back into bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The other side of the bed is tellingly empty, and when he reaches a hand over, the sheets are cool. Miracle makes a whuffle of interest when she sees Dean start to move, but settles back into her bed with a sigh when he doesn’t make another motion to get up.

“I hope you like your flapjacks extra crispy,” he mutters to her. She just huffs through her nose and rises up from bed after all, plodding over to him until she can rest her head on the mattress by his hip, tail wagging gently.

Dean opens one eye and peers down at her. She stares woefully back, eyebrows twitching as she glances meaningfully between his face and the bed. “Alright,” he grumbles, hand thwacking the mattress on Cas’ side of the bed. “C’mon up.”

Miracle hops onto the bed, jumping over Dean and settling into the space next to him, her nose a cold, wet pressure against his cheek that’s followed by her tongue licking at his face.

Back when they’d first brought Miracle to the bunker, and even despite how much Dean - surprisingly - adored her, he resisted the licking and made half-hearted attempts to train her out of it. Now, he just pats a hand on her side and mumbles, “Least someone’s giving me kisses this morning.”

A high pitched beeping starts, originating from the smoke alarm in the kitchen, and it’s followed by the loud ‘clang’ or some kind of pot or pan, making Miracle’s head pop up and ears perk forward. Dean sighs. “Let’s go see what those two are doing to my kitchen, huh?”

He keeps grumbling about it as he gets out of bed and slips on some pajama pants and a henley, but his chest feels warm and full from imagining Cas and Jack trying to surprise him with a birthday breakfast.

Birthdays growing up were little more than just another day; sometimes his dad got him a ‘present,’ usually in the form of some kind of weapon that a kid had no business wielding, but sometimes John would gloss over it completely, even when Sam would go out of his way to remind their dad what day it was and get angry on Dean’s behalf at the non-response. Getting older, he’d perpetuated this routine, waving a dismissive hand on the day of, and doing little more to celebrate than buying himself an extra slice of pie at whatever diner they found themselves. 

It’d been easier to pretend that it didn’t bother him when he constantly had Sam to look after, or an apocalypse du jour to worry about, but now that God is no longer a spiteful megalomaniac and is, in fact, his son - well, the world doesn’t seem to be on the verge of ending quite so often. 

Jack-as-God has been as good as his word about not interfering cosmically with humanity’s existence, but Jack-the-kid had only stayed away from home for a few weeks, before showing up at their door with a sheepish smile and a human Castiel in tow.

It’s been almost half a year since then; he and Cas spent an embarrassing week dancing around the “I love you” he’d laid at Dean’s feet before the Empty took him, a week that had culminated in them shouting at and then furiously making out with one another in the Archives, scarring Sam for life when he walked in on them. They still have their ups and downs and disagreements, but for the most part it’s been pretty damn perfect. 

Dean gets to fall asleep and wake up next to the love of his life every day, his brother is still alive and thriving, Eileen by his side to kick his ass into shape so Dean doesn't have to, and Dean gets to see Jack more days than not, and even Claire makes it a point to come by at least once a month for dinner and to kick Dean’s ass at mini-golf. Life, even when it involves Cas and Jack making one hell of a mess in the kitchen, is pretty damn good.

He follows the smell of smoke and the sound of hushed swearing to the kitchen, Miracle trotting at his side, and bursts into laughter when he turns the corner and walks into the doorway.

Cas and Jack snap their heads around to look at him, wearing identical wide-eyed looks of guilt. There’s flour streaked across Cas’ cheeks and up into his hair, neon green oven mitts clutched in his hands, and Jack looks like he’s wearing half of the pancake batter on his shirt. The stainless steel table in the center of the kitchen is strewn with dirty bowls, eggshells, and open bags of flour and sugar. There’s a smoking pan next to all of it that has the charred remains of what once may have been bacon still smoldering away in burnt fat.

Dean laughs like he hasn’t laughed in ages, guffawing and belly-deep, holding his chest and stomach from the force of it. He laughs until he runs out of air and is doing little more than gasping, tears streaming from his eyes. Right as he's beginning to calm down, he hears Eileen come up behind him, and when she takes in the scene with an instant, "Holy shit," he loses it all over again. 

He laughs until he’s wheezing, laughs with his head thrown back and hands curled into his sternum until he’s forced to double over. When he finally manages to get himself under control, he wipes at the tears in his eyes, still chuckling. 

“Hoo boy,” he says, planting his hands on his hips and stretching his shoulders back so he can get some air back in his lungs. He can’t stop smiling. Cas looks back at him, face a mix of lightly embarrassed and utterly fond, but Jack looks completely dismayed.

“We were gonna surprise you," he says, looking forlornly at the cremated remains of the bacon. 

"Oh, I'm surprised," Dean says, beaming. He crosses into the kitchen and throws an arm around Jack's shoulders, drawing him in and planting a hard kiss into his hair. There's pancake batter in there, too. "And hey, it's the thought that counts, huh?"

He releases Jack with a light noogie and leans over to press a warm, lingering kiss to Cas' upturned, floury mouth. Eileen enters the kitchen and pokes dubiously at one of the mixing bowls. He hears more than sees Sam come into the doorway, hears the quiet, "Ohhhh-kay," that his brother lets out at the scene, and smiles into Cas' kiss.

The kitchen is a disaster, breakfast is beyond saving, the noxious smell of burnt food heavy in the air, and the obnoxiously cheerful 'Happy Birthday!' banner taped to the wall is starting to slip, but Dean already feels like this might be the best damn birthday he's ever had. 

"Happy Birthday, Dean," Cas murmurs, hands settling on his waist, leaving a flour handprint behind where he’d been resting his palm against Dean’s shoulder.

"Happy Birthday to me," he agrees against Cas' lips. They curve into a grin beneath his own, and he can't resist pressing forward for another soft, lingering kiss.

It _is_ his birthday, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> finale? what finale? i see no finale here
> 
> i also talk to myself on tumblr (@ kirkaut)


End file.
